


good company

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sakusa Kiyoomi, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Introspection, M/M, Masturbation, Mild mentions of anxiety attacks, Oral Sex, POV Sakusa Kiyoomi, Pining Sakusa Kiyoomi, Porn with Feelings, Pro Volleyball Player Miya Atsumu, Pro Volleyball Player Sakusa Kiyoomi, Sexual Tension, Top Miya Atsumu, timeskip period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-23 22:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30062457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Anything,” Kiyoomi murmurs in a breathless exhale. “You could do anything to me and I’d let you.”///Sakusa Kiyoomi comes to understand the complexities of his desires when Miya Atsumu enters his life.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 182
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

> **_“All desire is for a part of oneself gone missing, or so it feels to the person in love.” -Anne Carson_ **

When does desire start to become apparent? When does it begin to constitute one’s senses, ultimately flooding the rationality of one’s thoughts so that even one’s barebones consciousness will yield to the primal wiles of the unconscious mind? Is it at the very moment when something meant to be desirable is dangled before one’s eyes? Or is desire so profoundly inherent in every individual that it merely lays suspended until jolted awake from its state of dormancy?

The humanity in Kiyoomi has always acknowledged that he is no stranger to desire. He has come to quantify it in ways that are more wholly familiar to him — ambition, drive, and purpose. In the course of his life, experience has created specific molds into which his desire can wedge itself into, shapeshifting within his controlled boundaries.

Before desire chooses derision, it becomes a shadow. It grows and stretches in negligible increments that one would be seriously remiss in the absence of careful attention. Perhaps it had been complacency in Kiyoomi’s part that had led him to this unforeseen pitfall. But then again, could he be faulted when his staunch adherence to reason has managed to convince him that he would be spared? 

But it had never occurred to Kiyoomi that reason would be rendered meaningless when it comes to one Miya Atsumu, and therefore it would be wise to be alert for the very fact that even Atsumu himself is astonishingly unaware of all the parts of him that make him desirable which is an undeniably far worse circumstance than one who has full grasp of their charms and actively weaponizes it to their advantage. But no. Atsumu had to be the former, and so therein lies the peril of it all. 

Their interactions had always been scant and had been more of inductions of formalities than anything whenever their paths had crossed during nationals. Kiyoomi had not been able to comprehend the smittened reactions of the throngs of admirers chanting Atsumu’s name. And while his outward appearance objectively made him worthy of superficial acclaim, his personality had left much to be desired. Kiyoomi would know, after all. His own demeanor had not been particularly forthcoming either (and would come to persist in the present, albeit with more improvement).

But then these parts of Atsumu’s character had made themselves known to Kiyoomi in languid intervals, and even in their gradual pronouncement, it had all been too difficult to ignore. To look away. For Atsumu had always burned so bright, as Kiyoomi had come to find out during the very first match their teams had played against each other. And in spurts that had been as relentless as Atsumu’s serves and tosses, Kiyoomi’s desire grew outside its regulated bounds, shedding its layers until it exceeds that of just a shadow so that it becomes an entity demanding to be sated.

It had been during their first training camp together when Kiyoomi had found himself at the very mercy of Atsumu’s obliviousness. The gazes that lingered, the light taps on the shoulder, the brush of fingers when handing over a water bottle. Kiyoomi had felt his blood concentrate in pulsing heat along those areas where Atsumu had bumped him, grazed him, pressed up against him without intention. His brazen demeanor, this unflinching greed to take up as much space as he could, should have disgusted him. However, what Kiyoomi had felt couldn’t be farther from revulsion. 

Atsumu’s pride spurned Kiyoomi, his ambition intoxicating, and his meticulous diligence positively enthralling. Atsumu had complimented him a few times during the camp—had said how Kiyoomi had been responsible for igniting his competitive spirit—and each time, Kiyoomi had itched to grab him by the shoulders, to shake him and tell him that it had been a two-way exchange the entire time. Of course, Kiyoomi had refrained from doing anything of the sort.

For them to have met now as adults has certainly been an unforeseen event in Kiyoomi’s life. The deluded romantic in him would have regarded it as serendipitous, but the part he thought he had smothered and buried in the deepest trenches of his psyche now whispers something else entirely. And how could Kiyoomi disregard it when Atsumu now appears before him like a supernova, only unlike the stars, his blinding presence beckons a rebirth. His pride, his ambition, his meticulous diligence are now all packaged to fit the Atsumu of his twenties whose shoulders have widened, arms filled out and the cut of his jawline more frighteningly enticing that Kiyoomi takes offense that such a person could be that favored by the deities. 

That whisper sharpens eventually, most especially in those moments when Atsumu is flushed and sweaty and peeling off his jersey with an unfettered urgency. It almost feels like playing a game of chess —his reactions should be regulated, his every movement well-thought out and premeditated. But just like a game of chess, the difficulty increases with the passage of time and Kiyoomi would usually feel slightly lightheaded when Atsumu would finally pull down his shorts, absolutely bare before him save for the tight boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination.

The days that follow are offered up like a double-edged sword because as his camaraderie with Atsumu begins to flourish, his desire thrums low and steady, filling in every crack and crevice of his being so that he is a breath away from bursting. It wasn’t as if Kiyoomi had kept his efforts at a minimum either. 

Kiyoomi tried, but it was not easy. 

The first incident had been when Kiyoomi had gone through a bout of muscle spasms while cooling down, and without giving it much thought, Atsumu had knelt by his calf and had run his fingers across the skin of Kiyoomi’s leg. Atsumu had pressed at the flesh with a firmness that Kiyoomi’s mind had taken to imagining himself bare and gasping while on his back as Atsumu pressed just as firmly on both of his hips instead. He’d be lying if he said that his cock had not stirred which prompted him to dismiss Atsumu with a wave of his hand. To his relief, Atsumu had obliged. 

The second incident had been in Kiyoomi’s apartment and during which at that point, their friendship had eased into something more comfortable. Kiyoomi had time to thank for it and how it had nudged them both to respective maturities which as a result had lessened their natures of insufferability. Nevertheless, Kiyoomi had been pleased to still see these specks of Atsumu’s resurfacing petulance albeit much more moderate in frequency, but with enough of his distinctive charm to still trigger his teenhood nostalgia of experiencing a frightening crush on this boy for the first time.

It had actually been a myriad of factors. The fact that they were alone had been one. And perhaps it had also been the shirt Atsumu had worn that day which rode up considerably each time he stretched and so Kiyoomi had been condemned to seeing the strip of skin along his torso as well as the tops of his undergarment that managed to peek out from his jeans. And on the topic of his jeans, its cut had been so sinfully well-suited for Atsumu’s lethal combination of long legs and full thighs that Kiyoomi had struggled to converse with him without having to look at the parts of him that beckoned the whispers to reach a ravenous degree. 

To exacerbate his dilemma, there’s Atsumu’s blatant disregard for personal space and so as Atsumu had assisted him with putting together his bookshelf, it had been somehow inevitable for Atsumu to graze some part of Kiyoomi the entire time. At one point when he had sought to reach for a stray bolt near Kiyoomi’s knee, Atsumu had pat Kiyoomi’s thigh and even as he had been handed the object, his touch lingered and whether or not it had been an illusion of his brain, Kiyoomi had felt him give his thigh the fragment of a squeeze before finally lifting his hand away. 

In the hours when desire would grip Kiyoomi with a ferocity, he would find himself scrambling to quell it. And so when it would be dark in his room and the day had been spent imbibing the presence of Atsumu from what safe distance he could put between them, Kiyoomi’s hand would mimic the way Atsumu had touched him during the day and eventually, the pitch black density of the night would embolden him to push and push and he would imagine the hand that had always teased him to finally hold him, to stroke him until he becomes awashed with the high of his fantasies, the aftermath an indiscernible shame made more prominent when he feels the stickiness between fingers and thighs. 

Months would pass and the incidental back-and-forth of their togetherness would only continue to sharpen Kiyoomi’s wariness. He loves it, undoubtedly. The sing-song  _ Omi-kun  _ to leave Atsumu’s lips already etched in his bones, the cadence of his kansai dialect, the theatrics of his reactions when he feels personally affronted, the browns of his eyes that would grow steely during a game, but would always have fleeting flashes of tenderness in them when he gazes back at Kiyoomi in states of unspoken stillness. Kiyoomi loves them all.

When does desire blossom into love? Is it when carnality is chipped away beyond recognition so instead what would remain is the softness of endearment? The sublime fondness over the minutiae of the once desired and subsequently now loved? But to begin with, were humans ever meant to comprehend this exact moment of desire’s transition? And even more so, will the person we love be just as we desire them? 

And in so grappling with the ebb and flow of desire and love, Kiyoomi comes to unwittingly neglect the possibility of a third incident until it arrives without a warning.

“Guess we’re hotel roommates, Omi-kun!” 

The blare of sirens inside Kiyoomi’s head had gone off in unrelenting decibels when their team manager announced the room assignments during the upcoming away-game. Kiyoomi’s looming apprehension has since then teetered near a breaking point once the reality strikes him sharp and hot in the solitude of their shared space, especially when Atsumu heedlessly starts to undress just a few minutes upon arrival. It’s starkly different when they’re in the midst of other people and already pumped full of post-match adrenaline and endorphins, thus relegating the act of shedding their sweat-soaked clothing as a mere afterthought. 

But in this moment, the act has become so far removed from the realm of inconsequence that panic becomes Kiyoomi’s default mental response. And as he eyes the stretch of Atsumu’s skin against muscle, his chest coils with an unimaginable tightness that he starts breathing through his mouth, and thankfully his face mask is effective enough to disguise this as well as his shame. 

“You’re not gonna change into practice clothes?” Atsumu asks him, bare chested and clearly unabashed about it.

Kiyoomi’s throat has gone dry so he coughs before he says, “I was just going to, actually.”

“Well, hurry. Coach gave us only twenty minutes.”

Feverish thoughts pushed aside, Kiyoomi begins to remove each article of clothing one by one, but his preoccupation with his current task is not enough to distract him considering that Atsumu has now sidled closer to him.

"Your abs have really toned up, Omi-kun," he says with such an air of casualness that Kiyoomi wonders just how quickly this friendship has progressed that their individual approaches have now felt more and more dangerously effortless.

"But mine are still better." Atsumu makes sure to add and he's smirking at Kiyoomi who partially scowls at his impishness. 

"I recall having done more sit-ups than you lately though," Kiyoomi taunts back. "So your claim is empty."

He retains his smirk, but Atsumu's eyes have now narrowed as he looks at Kiyoomi. "Feel mine then. I dare you."

Kiyoomi feels like an animal cornered and helpless, but perhaps greater so in this moment is his empathy for the biblical Eve who was but mere inches from the forbidden fruit as she had stood there subjecting herself to the serpent’s temptations. However, Kiyoomi deems his turmoil that much more acute when both fruit and tempter are one. And just like Eve, Kiyoomi forgoes reason, curiosity and desire abounding as he plucks the fruit, falling into the serpent’s trap. 

He notices Atsumu’s abs briefly tensing upon contact with his fingers, and all the while he begins to anticipate for Atsumu to tell him to stop. But he hears nothing save for his breathing and so he takes this as a tacit encouragement to continue. And so Kiyoomi continues and he presses his palm against his skin with all the caution he could muster in the world. Atsumu makes a sound that’s a cross between a gasp and an inaudible groan and as a result, Kiyoomi swiftly retracts his hand only for Atsumu to snatch it by his wrist.

“Wait,” Atsumu says, their faces so close to each other that Kiyoomi is able to make out the flecks of fading freckles across Atsumu’s nose bridge. They shouldn’t be  _ this close. _

But neither of them pull away and instead, Kiyoomi’s eyes travel downwards to Atsumu’s mouth. 

“Do you want to kiss me, Omi-kun?”

Kiyoomi swallows and he bites his lower lip. “If I say yes, what would you do?”

“I’d tell you to do it,” Atsumu whispers. “So, do you want to?”

Tilting his head, Kiyoomi gazes into Atsumu’s brown eyes. “For some time now, to be honest.”

When Atsumu captures his mouth with his, it’s as if the air has come alive with electricity and every inch of his skin has broken out in flames. This must be the fate of sinners, he thinks. The taste of blazing hellfire at a maximum degree. And as Atsumu curls his fingers at the base of Kiyoomi’s head to pull him in, Kiyoomi’s answer was to throw an arm across his shoulders, drawing him so close until they’re chest to chest, the gap between them long gone.

Atsumu withdraws first, pulling away with an obscene smacking noise.

“You’re hard,” Atsumu tells him with an aching tenderness that it tempers the lewdness of his remark. “Fuck, I can feel you.”

“I’m sor—”

“Don’t apologize.” Then Atsumu’s other hand shifts from the back of his head to his jaw so he’s cupping Kiyoomi’s cheek, his thumb caressing the area below his eye. “I wanna make you feel good. Let me make you feel so fucking good, Omi-kun.” 

Desire and love, desire and love. Kiyoomi feels them both with such ardent depth and he’s not sure which one he wants to succumb to in this moment. But the more he weighs in on these sensations, it sinks in that the line between desire and love has blurred significantly over time and that now would not be an ideal instance to try and distinguish them apart. 

“Anything,” Kiyoomi murmurs in a breathless exhale. “You could do anything to me and I’d let you.”

Atsumu licks his lips and his hand that had settled near his pelvis now starts a slow, upwards ascent until he halts by his chest. His thumb brushes lightly against a nipple and Kiyoomi shivers. “Can I kiss you here then?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi says.

Atsumu ducks his head to kiss his chest and his nipple and Kiyoomi flutters his eyes shut to relish in Atsumu’s searing touches. They eventually fly open when he feels something wet against the hardened bud on his pec and he sees Atsumu take his nipple in his mouth to gently suck on it.

“Like it when I touch you here, huh?” Atsumu says after he abandons his chest to now focus on the area close to Kiyoomi’s pulse point, his thumb swiping at the now moistened bud. Then his other hand darts down between them so he can palm Kiyoomi through his sweats. “So hard, Omi-kun. Wonder if you can cum just like this without me having to touch you.” 

Kiyoomi moans and he instinctively grinds against Atsumu’s palm. Atsumu lets him, timing his ministrations with every roll of Kiyoomi’s hips. All the while, Atsumu is planting kisses along the column of his neck, and Kiyoomi starts to dream of an alternate universe where he is permitted to spend long hours of every single day simply indulging in the infinite ways in which Atsumu could unravel him. 

When Atsumu pulls his hand away, Kiyoomi nearly whines at the loss of contact, but all he does is let out a shaky breath, eyelids heavy as he cracks them open so that he could stare into Atsumu’s eyes and ask him, “Why? Why are you so readily accepting of this?”

“Because I’ve always been drawn to you, Omi-kun,” he says, his confession so strikingly succinct that Kiyoomi is promptly taken aback by it, confounding him thoroughly that his mental faculties have set aside the needs of the physical to make way for the emotional.

“What drew you to me?” Kiyoomi wants to know. He wants to know because he has spent years pining and entangling himself with the familiar stasis of desire and ultimately love strictly from his point of view, and so to be held now, to be seen and stripped of all literal and metaphorical barriers because his desire and love has been reciprocated — _ has apparently always been reciprocated _ — is a reality that could only be considered astonishingly unnerving. 

“I’ve always thought that you were good company,” Atsumu continues and this time around, the formerly remarkable audaciousness of his tone has now taken on a more keenly bashful one as if his declaration could be a cause of embarrassment, and it reminds Kiyoomi of the occasional frailties of Atsumu’s ego especially when they had been teenagers because while pride and Atsumu went hand in hand, sometimes Atsumu would be caught in a vice grip of fluster. And so the crimson on his cheeks, his faltering gaze, and his slackened grasps are all proof that Miya Atsumu has simultaneously changed while not changing at all.

“I think that you’re good company too,” Kiyoomi professes and they kiss again, teeth and tongue bruising each other as if the abrupt cooling period had never taken place, and Kiyoomi is inevitably shoved backwards onto the bed as Atsumu cages him in below him.

Atsumu kisses him deeply before he trails his mouth along his jaw until Kiyoomi can hear his breathing crisp and labored in his ear and that’s when Atsumu whispers, “Let me suck you off.”

Kiyoomi’s cock twitches at the offer, but the rest of him is paralyzed with shock because even in his most untethered fantasies, Atsumu’s mouth on any area of his figure below the waist had remained an untouched figment of even his most erotic imaginations. But now it’s offered on a silver platter and Kiyoomi simply waits for him to make his move.

“Hey,” he hears Atsumu say. “Are you going to allow me to suck you off?”

“Oh, I didn’t know you were waiting for my reply,” Kiyoomi admits a little clumsily. 

“Of course I was going to wait until you say yes, Omi-kun,” Atsumu chuckles sweetly. “So, are you okay with it?”

He knows that if he were to preserve their momentum, Kiyoomi shouldn’t say anything else apart from a brief yes and a nod and that’s what he does and Atsumu’s kisses begin to slither from his neck and down to his chest once more where he tenderly sucks on each nipple first before he travels even lower.

“Are you ticklish here? Because most people usually are.” There’s a playful glint in his eyes when he looks up at Kiyoomi.

“Last time I checked, I only said yes to a blowjob. No tickling.” Kiyoomi throws at him, but he says it with a lazy grin which Atsumu echoes and to Kiyoomi’s relief, Atsumu doesn’t tickle him and instead plants kisses, hot and wet, along the expanse of his abs. Eventually, Atsumu sits up and his hands are now on Kiyoomi’s still clothed hips.

“Sit here by the edge for me,” he says and Kiyoomi complies and Atsumu slips off the bed so that he’s kneeling on the carpeted floor between Kiyoomi’s thighs, his face tilted upward to look at Kiyoomi. “Do you want me to take your pants off for you or do you want to do it yourself?” 

While oral sex had been an unexplored territory in his fantasy landscape, to be rid of clothing, because Atsumu had pulled it off, on the other hand, had been a staple in his make-believe scenarios and so Kiyoomi swallows thickly before he pleads, “Could you do it for me?” 

“Of course.” And Atsumu tugs down his waistband and Kiyoomi lifts himself off of the bed ever so slightly to allow Atsumu to pull the offending garment completely out of the way along with his boxer briefs until he’s utterly bare, cock stiff and already moist at the tip.

Atsumu breathes in sharply. “ _Fuck, Omi-kun_.”

Kiyoomi prepares to admonish him to avert his gaze, but something pink peeks out between Atsumu’s lips and he’s bringing it close to his weeping tip. The sensation Kiyoomi feels when Atsumu gives the sensitive head a tentative kitten lick is a jab of blistering pleasure curling like an ominous wave threatening to sweep him under. He gasps audibly, hands enclosing around the rumpled sheets to his sides. He feels like passing out.

Thankfully, Atsumu takes his time and collects the precum with his tongue, running thick stripes from the base back to the head so he can suck on the tip, just lightly enough so Kiyoomi could only moan and shudder as he continues to hang on to the very precipice of his potential climax.

“I’ll take you in now,” Atsumu warns him after he licks his lips. 

Once wet heat starts to slowly wrap around him, his coherence diminishes, alternating only between a moan and a breathy curse. Atsumu doesn’t take him in all the way, which is more than enough at this point. And as he had consented to earlier, he lets Atsumu suck him off.

“ _Fuck, fuck_ ,” Kiyoomi sobs, hands fisting the sheets with an absentminded resolve. “So good, fuck.”

Unbeknownst to Kiyoomi, Atsumu had been sinking down deeper each time and Kiyoomi is only able to realize this when he feels his tip graze something and he involuntarily bucks which results in Atsumu gagging around his cock.   
  


“Shit, I’m sorry!” Panic laces his hoarse voice and Kiyoomi is trying to pull Atsumu off of him, but the latter’s obstinacy is not easy to counter. Instead Atsumu takes Kiyoomi’s hand and guides it to his head and Kiyoomi, understanding what Atsumu wants him to do, gently gathers the unruly blonde locks between his fingers and they resume as if nothing had happened. 

At some point, Kiyoomi begins to feel that the precipice on which he has been standing is gradually being loosened, falling away beneath his feet so that he’s so precariously on the edge. So his heartbeat quickens like it’s the tail-end of a match and both teams are scrambling for the final point, his blood coursing hot and wild through his veins, and there’s only the ragged sound of breathing and breathing and breathing.

“ _Fuck, Atsumu. Fuck I’m so close. Fuck, fuck_.”

His attempt to push Atsumu away in time fails miserably and he cums with an open-mouthed gasp, spilling all of him inside the crevices of Atsumu’s mouth. For a beat, there is only the quiet, his body riding through the euphoric haze of his climax as he trembles. He doesn’t even notice Atsumu’s mouth on his thigh, soothing him with soft kisses.

“It felt good, huh, Omi-kun?” Atsumu coos. “Omi-kun deserves to feel good like this.”

“Please tell me you didn’t swallow it,” Kiyoomi mumbles between pants. 

“I did.”

“Don’t do that again,” Kiyoomi says.

“Do what? Suck you off or swallow  _ after _ I have sucked you off?” 

Atsumu has managed to change without changing after all, Kiyoomi thinks. He wouldn’t want it any other way. 

“You’re still hard,” Kiyoomi points out. Then he inches backwards onto the bed. “Come here and I’ll jerk you off.”

Atsumu laughs. “God, how romantic are we.”

“Very.”

They reunite nestled among the hotel sheets and Kiyoomi kisses Atsumu and strokes him until he cums, and as they mutually bask in the scent and heat of this unforeseen tryst, Atsumu weakly elbows Kiyoomi beside him.

“So what do we do now?” Atsumu asks.

“I believe we have practice to attend.”

“No, I mean, what do  _ we  _ do now.”

Kiyoomi chews on his bottom lip then he says, “How about a date after the game?”

“I’d like that,” Atsumu answers back.

Desire and love, desire and love. Kiyoomi has yet to expand his understanding on their dichotomy, but as his eyes rake the body of the boy beside him, bare just as he is, bare because Kiyoomi has known him since they were teenagers, bare because Atsumu is as unguarded as he is proud, bare because he’s allowed desire to turn into love, Kiyoomi realizes that perhaps there has never been a dichotomy to begin with. Or perhaps he has severely lucked out that the one he desires happens to be the same boy he would come to love.

Kiyoomi would like to believe that he is privileged enough for it to be the latter. 


	2. Chapter 2

> **_“Love is the honoring of others in a way that grants them the grace of their own autonomy and allows mutual discover” -Anne Truitt_ **

They had gone on a date as agreed upon and the entire time, Kiyoomi couldn't shake off the unease that came with this newfound reality. It had perplexed him, and for the most part he had attributed it to the fact that for a stretch of time, they had engaged in a near asphyxiating will-they-won't-they waltz that had its unlikely culmination in the confines of a hotel room within a twenty-minute time lapse. They had ached for the other for so long and the seeming anti-climactic ripening of these respective wants had left Kiyoomi in a daze as if he were caught on a rollercoaster that altered speeds, running on tracks that refused to show him where the next drop or turn would occur.

The date was as uncomplicated as every other joint excursion they've had in the past and perhaps despite the officiating of their relationship through the ceremonious stages of courtship, nothing about it had felt uncomfortably foreign. In fact, after dinner, Atsumu had walked Kiyoomi home, and after giving him a tender peck on the lips, he had bid him good-bye with a quick wave of his hand and he was gone. And Kiyoomi had stood there by the entryway of his apartment, his face mask in his hand instead of having it tugged down to his chin for a part of him had anticipated something more. Somehow, any sense of frustration had not found its way to Kiyoomi at all. Rather, it had been a consolation if anything that they had chosen to pace themselves this time. So Kiyoomi had slipped quietly inside his apartment, heart so swollen with his affections that he had to run his hand along the area near his chest to assuage the steady thrum of delight against his ribcage.

________________________

  
  


Autumn eventually grows in width and in length, penetrating the bloom of flora so that their vibrant greens would yield to varying shades of reds and browns. It's been a month since they started dating and while their dynamics generally remain unchanging, it has become increasingly clear that this relationship has also in turn established a set of unspoken rules when it comes to how they would intimate their respective fondness for the other. 

Kiyoomi doesn't mind the containment of his desires at this point and he's pleased that it has managed to tame itself considerably so that it's not all that consumes their interactions. But even in the moments where their emotional exchanges would transpire to a physical one, Kiyoomi has become more accustomed to the unhurried displays of their longing. Languid yet more deliciously erotic.

Kiyoomi is on his back, bare from head to toe while Atsumu runs his finger across every inch of his body in achingly slow traces. His cock has hardened already, but he doesn't fuss as Atsumu caresses him at his own leisure.

"Your moles are really cute," Atsumu says, his finger now by his pelvis. "Also, I never knew you had a birthmark here."

The birthmark in question, a hideously brown splotch the size of a saucer by his inner thigh, has always been a source of ridicule by other children when Kiyoomi was younger. They had teased him mercilessly for it since they said it resembled dirt. It had made him anxious and irrationally frightful of his uncleanliness. But Atsumu does not seem repulsed by it at all and his finger has now traveled to the very mark that had once resulted in his shame during his youth.

"Can I kiss it?" Atsumu asks and Kiyoomi can feel his cock only grow tighter.

"Yes." His voice sounded strained when he grants Atsumu permission and the latter tilts down so that his warm mouth meets the skin of his thigh and Kiyoomi gasps at the sickeningly arousing feel of it.

Atsumu looks up at him, mischief and endearment swirling in that singular stare. Then he gingerly wraps a hand around Kiyoomi's cock and Kiyoomi releases the moan that's been laying impatiently in his throat. 

"Feels good?" Atsumu whispers and Kiyoomi nods. Then Atsumu moves to straddle him, eventually bringing their cocks together and encasing them both in his grasp, and when Atsumu grinds forward, the slide of their cocks elicits a collective groan from them both.

"Get more lube," Kiyoomi sighs as he sits up. And Atsumu plucks out the bottle from beneath a pillow to dribble some of the fluid between his fingers. Then he wraps the same sticky hand around them again, stroking them both slowly until tears prick the corners of Kiyoomi's eyes.

Kiyoomi leans over to kiss Atsumu and Atsumu opens his mouth to welcome the slide of his tongue. Everything is messy and sloppy and unclean, but Kiyoomi has never wanted anything more, and in the throes of his inexplicable pleasure, Kiyoomi enters a near trance, his head hung low and his eyes closed so that all that he is and will ever be is flesh against Atsumu's flesh, just the overbearing heat of his being and the rawness of his desire.

"Look at me," Atsumu whispers through his staggered breathing. "If you're gonna cum, look at me. Look at me, Omi."

Atsumu lifts his chin and through bleary eyes, he stares back at Atsumu, face flushed and his jaw slackened. Once Atsumu has felt assured that Kiyoomi will continue to hold his gaze, the same hand on his chin disappears between them. Then a moan is harshly ripped out of Kiyoomi when he feels something rub against the tip of his cock and a brief glance below allows him to see that Atsumu has taken to rubbing his palm against Kiyoomi's slit. It's torture of the best kind.

" _ Atsumu no _ _ — _ _ fuck, fuck. _ "

"You're gonna cum for me?" Atsumu's strokes quicken, their hips jutting forward in a more uncoordinated rhythm. And in a voice that almost comes off as a growl, Atsumu says, "Look at me when you cum, okay? You have to — _ fuck _ — have to look at me."

HIs demands and the pleasurable friction amounts to the surfacing edge of his orgasm and Kiyoomi starts to tremble when it claws at him so ravenously from the inside and he sobs, “Atsumu I’m so close please.”

“Look at me, look at me,” Atsumu chants and it takes everything in Kiyoomi to obey when his body just wants to melt against Atsumu, to tuck his head in the crook of his neck as he climaxes with his arms desperately clinging to his lover. But Atsumu maintains a certain distance between them, holding him apart so that Kiyoomi sees every range of emotion on Atsumu’s features.

When it arrives, Kiyoomi gasps, shivering as his brows are furrowed in excruciating delight. He scrambles to return Atsumu’s hazy yet piercing stare as promised, but his body becomes wholly untamable in this moment and ultimately, he succumbs to its wanton wishes as he ends up throwing his head back while he cums and cums and cums.

Atsumu ducks to kiss along his neck, hungry and desperate, and after whispering a choked up  _ fuck _ below Kiyoomi’s ear, he feels Atsumu still. Then Atsumu groans, low and full as if liberating the orgasmic tremors that come with the spill of his cum, and Kiyoomi’s hand envelopes Atsumu’s as he strokes them both, aiding him in milking out the remnants of their combined pleasure.

The lucidity of their thoughts ebbs in a gentle pace, and when the fog and static gradually dissipates, Atsumu breaks the silence first when he chuckles, clumsily kissing Kiyoomi who echoes his amusement with a chuckle himself. 

“That was good,” Atsumu says once they’re finally laying down side by side on the soiled sheets. Kiyoomi notes to himself to change them and have them washed later.

“I thought I was going to faint,” Kiyoomi admits with traces of a laugh. Then he turns to his side to look at Atsumu, sweaty and spent yet still every bit as beautiful.

“You’re staring, Omi-kun.”

“You have a face I like to stare at,” Kiyoomi reasons.

Atsumu smiles, but he has yet to face Kiyoomi as his eyes remain transfixed on some unknown spot on the ceiling. “I actually hate it. Being looked at and called good-looking.”

Kiyoomi’s chest grows taut at the scornful tone of his voice. “Because it makes you feel objectified?”

“Somewhat, yes.”

“Do you want me to stop then?”

Atsumu finally flips to his side and he looks back at Kiyoomi. “Not you. You can objectify me all you want, Omi-kun.”

They share a salacious kiss after that and as to who initiated it first, is of no moment when their intoxicated stupor has no need for reason. 

“For the record, I see you as a person too,” Kiyoomi tells him after their lips have parted with a scandalously wet sound. “Funny, arrogant, smart, diligent, and bold. There are multitudes inside of you, Atsumu. Just so happens you have a face I like to stare at as well.” 

Atsumu laughs. “I’ve ruined other men for you then?” 

Kiyoomi smiles at him and pulls him close by the waist. “There are no other men.”

The next kiss is the last one they share for the afternoon before they eventually pass out in each other’s arms. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what more horny times? i hope you enjoy this short new addition. [runs away]


	3. Chapter 3

> **_"Understanding and loving are inseparable. If they are separate, it is a cerebral process and the door to essential understanding remains closed.” -Erich Fromm_ **

  
  


Kiyoomi could only liken it to washing his hands. An act which in the grander scheme of things could be considered so definitively trifling, but from his perspective, its significance could only be rivaled by the requisite functions of his internal organs. Being with Atsumu is comparable to this act. Earnestly simple and straightforward, but to Kiyoomi, he alone could comprehend its undeniable necessity. Perhaps it was this peculiar familiarity which has since then permeated the intricacies of their interactions that has lessened the incongruity of bone-deep intimacy in this new relationship. After all, familiarity breeds comfort and Kiyoomi prides himself for being a connoisseur when it comes to fostering comfort.

They've recently taken to joining in on each other's baths during which they would stay soaked for nearly an hour conversing until their fingertips began to wrinkle and the steam had pinched at their cheeks until they turned crimson in hue. 

Atsumu especially had a penchant for unloading his burdens in this tranquil security of hot air and soapy water. Such burdens would range from seriously consequential to amusingly silly, and each time, Kiyoomi would find it impressive yet bewildering that despite his consistent ineptitude to fully equip Atsumu with the solutions to all his problems, Atsumu continues to hold himself open before him, his honesty spilling over at times in overwhelming bundles, but Kiyoomi would find it distinctly charming of him all the same.

The tub could barely accommodate them both hence Kiyoomi's back is always pressed flush against Atsumu's entire frontside and at times, when carnal desire would seek to be tended to, Kiyoomi need only shift a certain way and immediately he could feel the fattening cock behind him and in retaliation, Atsumu would sneak a hand between Kiyoomi's thighs to fondle him until he's arching his back and begging for release.

"I was thinking of getting 'Samu one of those fancy knives for our birthday," Atsumu says and Kiyoomi could feel the vibrations from his chest against the expanse of his back as he speaks.

"And?"

"Remember how I went home last week? I dropped by his restaurant and I saw that he already has an entire fancy knife set!" Atsumu's exaggerated lamentations over his more trivial dilemmas are always so particularly comical to Kiyoomi and so a grin has already made its way on his lips.

"Just get him something different then," Kiyoomi suggests calmly so as not to reveal his endeared amusement over the matter.

"I have to get him something that will surprise him, Omi! I just have to!"

Kiyoomi, knowing what he knows of Atsumu, simply says, "Is this out of brotherly affection or sibling competition?"

"Competition of course!" Atsumu shamelessly exclaims. "He always said I sucked at gift-giving. That's why I need to get him something that will  _ really _ catch him off-guard! Make him eat his words and all.”

Kiyoomi slightly stretches out a cramping leg."I don't think anyone could ever be particularly bad at giving gifts. It's just not a real trait you can actually possess."

Atsumu, perhaps having noticed Kiyoomi's discomfort, inches backwards and as a result, some water sloshes out of the tub. The splash it makes against the tiles offsets the heady stillness of the atmosphere, jolting Kiyoomi to this realization that there's an otherworldly and vulnerable kind of quiet that exists only in these spaces they occupy together.

"Actually, 'Samu's not just saying it to shit on me for no reason," Atsumu relays to him in a sardonically densed tone. "I don't think I'm really cut out to being thoughtful enough in that department, to be honest."

As Kiyoomi had somehow been suspecting for some time, it has not been lost on Atsumu that crossing from one relationship threshold to another could be a source of insecurity and so every now and then, these vaguely alluded to concerns would come up during conversation as if Atsumu is already gradually softening the landing for when he ultimately disappoints Kiyoomi. And while Kiyoomi doesn't find it entirely too difficult to pick up on these very rare glimpses of his wavering self-confidence, it's a different story when it comes to maneuvering around it and applying a certain degree of caution that would ideally avoid a misunderstanding. 

"I still think it's absurd for anyone to consider gift-giving as a skill set," Kiyoomi says plainly. Then he runs a hand along Atsumu's arm and he adds, "Because I know whatever it is you'll give me, I'll like it regardless."

He feels Atsumu kiss the back of his head then Kiyoomi instinctively leans back to bare the flesh of his neck to Atsumu who starts to pepper it with kisses. Kiyoomi moans softly and he slowly grinds backwards against Atsumu's crotch. More water is displaced and the sound it makes when it tips over to hit the tiles below is a resounding echo which is still not enough to swallow the groan that Atsumu exhales.

" _ Hmmm...fuck, Omi _ ."

Kiyoomi twists his upper body so he can capture Atsumu's mouth in his, and the lewd glide of tongues and slick brush of their lips stir Kiyoomi's cock to a semi-hardness. Atsumu's hand dives into the water to hold Kiyoomi, and after a teasing press of a thumb against his slit, Kiyoomi pulls away from the kiss. His mouth travels along to Atsumu's jaw and in an almost frantic whisper, Kiyoomi says, "Bed. Now."

They scramble out of the tub, carefully holding the other with precaution before they grab their towels to dry themselves to the best of what their motor skills can afford their acutely aroused states. Urgency wins them over, eating away at rationality as they stumble together into the bedroom with streaks of bathwater still clinging to their figures. 

The instant that the backs of Kiyoomi’s knees nudge against the edge of the bed, Atsumu shoves him backwards with enough force to startle him. Kiyoomi attempts to raise himself on his elbows, but Atsumu firmly presses down on his shoulders and after easily straddling him, Atsumu does an eager roll of his hips, grinding down on Kiyoomi’s swollen cock and Kiyoomi moans at the intensely delicious friction.

“Inside me,” Kiyoomi gasps with every hot and relentless slide of Atsumu’s cock against his. “Get inside me.”

“Condom,” Atsumu huffs.

“Bedside table, top drawer.”

In a manic series of movements, Atsumu lunges towards the small wooden table, rifling through the drawer to retrieve a foil packet and a bottle of lube.

The sight of Atsumu tossing the lube and condom onto the bed results in Kiyoomi involuntarily spreading his thighs, and when Atsumu takes the lube bottle, uncapping it and squeezing a dollop on to his fingers, Kiyoomi can feel his hole clench in anticipation.

Atsumu slowly slides in two fingers at once and Kiyoomi hisses at the initial sting of it.

“Relax for me,” Atsumu coos, his other hand already reaching for Kiyoomi’s cock to give it a few tugs. 

Kiyoomi starts to squirm, chewing on his bottom lip as he tries to adjust to Atsumu’s fingers. It’s not as if this was entirely new to them both. However, this would have only been their third time and Kiyoomi has yet to be more welcoming of these unsettlingly foreign sensations which unfortunately has been a lot easier said than done. 

In fact, their first time had been admittedly quite horrific as Kiyoomi had panicked halfway through and Atsumu had to quickly pull out his cock and calm him down. The second time had gone more smoothly, but after Atsumu had thrusted a few times against his prostate, the feel of it had been so immensely overwhelming that Kiyoomi had sobbed and pleaded for him to stop. 

But perhaps it was even more unbearable how Atsumu had always defaulted to soothing him without a second thought, instantly scooping Kiyoomi up in an embrace and pressing soft kisses against his temple until the waves of his anxiety had subsided. 

Kiyoomi’s feelings of remorse and shame had bonded together to eventually serve as fodder to strengthen his resolve, and after having attempted to ‘practice’ by his lonesome with the aid of a dildo, he feels more assured in this present moment and so he inhales and relaxes as Atsumu had coaxed.

A few shallow thrusts later and Atsumu proceeds to slip in a third finger and Kiyoomi gasps, but instead of fear, there’s only the trickle of pleasure that’s already beginning to override the dull pain. He clenches around the fingers and experimentally raises his hips in an attempt to meet every thrust.

“Feels good, Omi?” Atsumu is smirking at him, but it doesn’t register as any remote inclination to smugness over how he’s knuckles-deep inside Kiyoomi. Instead, Kiyoomi captures the kindness in it, a kindness unique to Atsumu that manifests itself into a hallmark playfulness of his character. And perhaps it’s because like Atsumu, pride and Kiyoomi also go hand in hand, and Atsumu has come to unfurl enough layers to recognize that Kiyoomi’s pride has developed in him a distaste for shallow commiseration. 

So Atsumu grins at him, a lovely and winsome curl of his mouth that’s a bit lopsided, but Kiyoomi is positively smitten by the asymmetry of it and he beckons for Atsumu to lean over and kiss him. The way their mouths move against each other is more intuitive this time around, and when Atsumu slides a tongue inside to taste him, Kiyoomi groans deep in his chest and so does Atsumu when he clenches around his fingers. 

It’s when Atsumu has finally located his prostate to cautiously brush against it that Kiyoomi slackens his jaw, panting and gasping as he writhes in response to the sensation. He can taste the burgeoning panic at the back of his throat and as if reading him completely, Atsumu returns to shallowly thrusting his fingers, his other hand shifting to his inner thigh to gently massage it.

“You’re okay,” Atsumu whispers. “You’re okay, Omi.”

The tenderness of his reassurances proves too much for Kiyoomi and his eyes moisten with suppressed tears which perhaps have become more apparent when he blinks back at Atsumu.

Atsumu stills instantly. “Does it hurt? I can stop if you want, Omi. Just tell me and I’ll stop.” 

It’s almost unfair how Kiyoomi has Atsumu all to himself like this, a human being brimming with love that Kiyoomi believes in absolution that it must be a sin carved in stone somewhere to have been chosen by him and to be yearned for by him. And as he feels Atsumu start to withdraw his fingers, he swiftly grabs his wrist to steady him in place, his body pulsating with all the need to transgress, to indulge in Atsumu’s love and attention until he’s wholly consumed by it.

“Keep going,” Kiyoomi breathes out shakily. “Make love to me, Atsumu. _Please make love to me_.” 

He notices him swallowing thickly, a lump bobbing along the exquisite flesh of his throat. Then he pushes his fingers back in, his other hand departs from his thigh to take his cock once again. 

“As you wish, Omi.” 

Atsumu pushes in deeper, swiping at his prostate until his tip dribbles out precum. But Atsumu is more merciful with his cock, stroking it languidly and gathering the moisture from the cockhead to lubricate his shaft. And with each tug and twist of his cock, an obscene squelch joins the cacophony of lewd noises in the room. Kiyoomi simultaneously feels like cumming while still clinging to the very brink of his release. It’s a maddening high that only leads to open-mouthed moans and the incessant drip of his precum on to his pelvis. 

“I think I’ve stretched you out enough,” Atsumu says, fingers still deep inside of him, but the hand that was once around his cock is now giving his thigh a few gentle squeezes. “You ready, Omi?” 

Throat dry, Kiyoomi simply gives him a curt nod and Atsumu carefully pulls all three fingers out. Kiyoomi shudders at the drag of Atsumu’s thick and long digits, and his hole eventually clenches around nothing, the emptiness resounding and it initiates a craving within him that he is unable to stop from sobbing out a  _ ‘hurry! _ ’ as Atsumu fumbles for the foil packet by Kiyoomi’s shoulder. 

Atsumu tears the packet open with his teeth, the act so blisteringly erotic to witness that Kiyoomi’s hand finds its way to his cock so he can lazily tug at it as his eyes land on Atsumu’s fat cock, now slowly sheathed with the film of rubber as he rolls down the condom. 

Time suddenly starts to transpire in a static haze and Kiyoomi feels drunk when Atsumu grips him by the hips, his left hand eventually sliding to his knee to push one leg up slightly. Then a brief flash of lucidity allows him to feel the thick flesh of Atsumu’s cockhead near his rim and his heart suddenly leaps, heat spiking in his blood.

“Ready?” Atsumu asks. 

Kiyoomi swallows and his throat is like sandpaper. “Ready.”

“I’m putting it in.” Atsumu takes the same knee and angles it higher, almost pressing it against Kiyoomi’s chest. Then as he hovers over him, Atsumu takes his cock and guides it to Kiyoomi’s hole. “If it’s too much, tell me. Just tell me and I’ll slow down.” 

Kiyoomi has had Atsumu’s cock in him before, but he barely remembers how the stretch of it had felt and so when Atsumu begins to apply more force when he pushes past his rim, Kiyoomi starts to worry that he would rip in half, and so his hands fly to Atsumu’s shoulders, ready to shove him at a moment’s notice. 

“Okay so far, Omi?” Atsumu checks.

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi says. “I’m good. Keep going, but go slow.” 

Atsumu complies as expected, confirming with Kiyoomi in intervals to help manage his tiny bouts of discomfort. At some point, Atsumu halts and he informs Kiyoomi that he hasn't pushed all the way in, but that he'll start moving regardless.

Kiyoomi feels every bit of Atsumu when he pulls out only to enter him again and for a moment, the unhurried almost teasing roll of his hips seem to adequately scratch a certain itch, but not to entirely satiate all the want that's beginning to awaken from its stasis. So it blooms and blooms and with every shallow thrust, Kiyoomi begins to jut his hips upward in a desperate attempt to increase the friction.

"More," Kiyoomi demands. "Go deeper, Atsumu."

"You sure?" Atsumu says, voice a little strained. 

"I'm sure."

And Atsumu leans closer, nearly folding Kiyoomi in half and then he says, "I need you to tell me you want it. Tell me you want it, Omi."

In equal fervor, Kiyoomi whispers back, "I fucking _want_ it."

Atsumu kisses him, stealing his breathy exhale when Atsumu thrusts with more force and speed. Then Atsumu hooks a leg in the crook of his elbow, lifting it so he's at a more optimum angle to grind deeper and all Kiyoomi could do is babble out a series of curses under his breath, panting and clawing at Atsumu's shoulders with desperation.

At some point, a particularly eager thrust presses against Kiyoomi's prostate and Kiyoomi sobs, back arching as his thighs start to shake and the clamor of his body's protest against the surging sensations that flicker hot and bright all over his body reminds Kiyoomi of when they had done it the second time, and panic starts to flow in like a rushing tide. 

But Kiyoomi channels his focus on his hands and how his palms and fingertips are in searing contact with Atsumu's flush skin, and Kiyoomi inhales the smell of him. Sweat and the lingering scent of soap. Then he listens to Atsumu's breathing, heavy and in perfect harmony with the beat of Kiyoomi's own heart. Kiyoomi drinks it all in. Everything that is Atsumu and the effect of their union on him. Kiyoomi had begged for Atsumu to make love to him. And Kiyoomi decisively lets all that love fill these spaces between them and around them, casting all doubts aside so that every possible crevice is occupied only by the magnitudes of their affections for one another.

Kiyoomi takes Atsumu's head in his hands and he kisses him, a mixture of relief and longing so potent in the slip of his mouth against Atsumu’s. Then a ravenous whisper spills out of bruised lips. "You don't have to touch me. I want to cum like this. Make me cum like this, Atsumu."

Atsumu returns the kiss, chaste yet achingly sweet, before a teasing grin surfaces. “So demanding, Omi.” 

And Atsumu, no longer tethered by any doubts, starts to pick up speed, angling his hips and the strokes of his cock in order to hit that same spot over and over again. 

“ _ Fuck, fuck _ ,” Kiyoomi groans, pain and pleasure merging into a singular orchestra of sensations. Its stunning, near cosmic waves that ripple from the top of his head to the ends of his toes brings him to a state of delirium, a surreal plane where his limbs are restless and frenzied as he grabs at anything, pulls at everything to stay grounded. 

“Omi shit you feel so good around me,” Atsumu grunts. “So fucking tight and hot around me.”

Kiyoomi’s tongue is heavy and his inability to form sentences leads him to only moan at Atsumu’s debauched declarations. Eventually he stops meeting Atsumu’s thrusts, his mind instead latching on to the thick and relentless feel of Atsumu’s cock, allowing his body to become a vessel of excessive pleasure as he takes and takes and takes with an almost divine reverie of Atsumu’s outpour of affection. 

Atsumu slips a finger below his chin, tilting his head upwards so that Kiyoomi’s staring straight into his eyes, pupils blown to indicate his irrepressible arousal. 

“Hey, everything okay?” And still even when they’re neck-deep in the oceans of their respective desires,  _ still  _ Atsumu is thinking of him, appraising him in case Kiyoomi has become too entangled with the swell of his heightened emotions to convey his unease. 

And Kiyoomi swoons at this potent endearment, and he musters a smile so sluggish and clumsy before saying, “I’m okay, really. I’m so fucking close to cumming though.” 

Atsumu returns his smile. Then he pulls out all the way before slamming back into Kiyoomi who instantaneously cries out when the hard press of his cock pummels his prostate upon contact.

“Close, Omi?”

“So fucking close.”

“Hold on,” Atsumu warns before he takes both Kiyoomi’s legs, hooking both knees by his elbows so that he’s folding Kiyoomi in half. His thrusts are unabating and greedy and Kiyoomi begins to feel his cheeks moisten, assuming they’re sweat from Atsumu’s forehead. But as he flutters his eyes shut, he realizes he’s crying, his tears profusely leaking out of the corners of his eyes as his body is singed and ruined with all his desire and love for Atsumu.

His orgasm feels like an avalanche, colliding into him so viciously that Kiyoomi is helpless and hysterical at the same time, rapidly oscillating between hasty gasps and garbled cries of Atsumu’s name. 

“Fuck, Omi,” Atsumu hisses. “Fucking cum for me, yes.”

Head lolling back, Kiyoomi starts to tremble in the wake of his climax, helplessly keening at the seemingly infinite and endless cycle of his orgasms that leave Kiyoomi feeling so trapped and frighteningly feeble. But a hand pushes the curls away from his forehead and Atsumu plants a kiss along his brows. His strong arms wrap up Kiyoomi in a sticky embrace and he whispers in Kiyoomi’s ear, “You did so well, Omi. That was so good. So, so good.”

Kiyoomi is like a marionette with his strings cut off, joints turning into pliable putty as he melts into the embrace, and when he feels the arms around his weakened figure tighten and the body of Atsumu on top of him shudder, he extends his reach to rub across the taut muscles of his back as he coos against his neck to say, “Cum for me, Atsumu.” 

The cock inside him ceases its movements, stilling before Kiyoomi can feel its girth twitch. Then Atsumu groans, feral and labored. And as if reading each other’s minds, they let their faces meet, their mouths crashing into each other in reckless abandon. When they part, Atsumu raises himself slowly then pulls himself out of Kiyoomi who would have moaned at the sensation, but exhaustion has come to settle in his bones and flesh and so there is simply nothing left for him to expend. 

Atsumu must have gone to remove the condom and subsequently throw it in the trash because he has left the bed. Kiyoomi, on the other hand, is still attempting to steady his breathing, too focused on calming the residual spasms in his body. So when Atsumu returns, he doesn’t notice until he hears his voice.

“Got you some water,” Atsumu tells him. The bed dips when Atsumu rejoins him, one hand bearing a washcloth and the other a glass of water.

Kiyoomi sits up, accepting the glass from Atsumu. It sinks in how parched and raw his throat has been when he takes a cautious first sip and the liquid almost burns on the way down. 

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi says after drinking half of the glass’ contents and Atsumu takes it from him so he can place it on the bedside table. 

“Let me clean you up, Omi.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi accedes and he lays on his back before Atsumu begins to gently wipe him down with the washcloth starting from his cum-streaked chest. The fabric is rough and when it brushes against a nipple, Kiyoomi sighs and lightly arches his back. Atsumu chuckles at this, but he indulges Kiyoomi and he gives each nipple a few teasing swipes of the cloth before he travels downward.

“Spread your legs for me,” Atsumu says. The washcloth is warm and when Atsumu slips it between his thighs, Kiyoomi wriggles his hips away, his oversensitivity having yet to recede completely.

Atsumu eases the pressure he applies when swiping at his skin and in a slow, syrupy voice he says, “You liked it that much, huh?”

Kiyoomi blurts out a tired laugh. “It wasn’t obvious?”

“I had you in tears, Omi.” And Atsumu leans to kiss where his tears had rolled down. “I thought I was hurting you.”

  
“Well, I liked it. That’s all you need to know.” Kiyoomi slides a palm against Atsumu’s chest, the rhythmic thump of his heart calms the faint trace of adrenaline in his blood and Kiyoomi laxes even more.

“I love you,” Atsumu exhales. “I love you and that’s why I will never hurt you. Ever.”

Desire and love, desire and love. Their convergence is a jarring symphony of contrasts and paradoxes. The existence of pain yielding to pleasure, the establishment of assurances that would assuage any insecurities, and finally the emergence of love to smother the hurt. As one, it fills in the gaps of longing, building one and the other into a completion that is comprehensible solely in each other’s shared togetherness.

“I love you,” Kiyoomi answers him. “All that I could ever desire and love is in you, Miya Atsumu.”

They escape into the fantasies of their sleep thereafter, only for their subconscious to forge a path for them to meet each other even in their slumber. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the end of the road, folks. bye.

**Author's Note:**

> hello there. i hope this was a fun read for you (assuming that you've read it). i do not wish to be perceived.


End file.
